


In which Hadrian has another meeting

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: Clank and Dagger [2]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, hats are in peril here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 05:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12928113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: Unscheduled.





	In which Hadrian has another meeting

Hadrian Greenclaw left his meeting with the Heterodyne feeling both confident and cowed, and overall rather pleased. The crisp autumn night felt good, and the breeze tasted of woodsmoke and new beginnings. Alight with civic pride, he decided to take the long way home, to enjoy the perfect Mechanicsburg evening. 

One of the more contrary Jägers waved at him on the way past, and Hadrian failed to take warning. Basking in the Heterodyne’s favor, he waved back. Jorgi gave him a pointy grin. 

“Hyu'z pretty beeg schtuff now.”

Internally, Hadrian agreed, but he said, “Time will tell.” Best to exercise caution. He continued on his way, not really reflecting on receiving unexpected attention from a Jäger. Even if he had, it may not have saved him. 

As he rounded a corner, something snatched him up from above. He suppressed a yelp, as any true son of Mechanicsburg would, and he looked upward. Wings darkened the sky, the shape almost like a modified Torchman. Who would dare…?

It deposited him on a rooftop and continued on into the night, denying him any decent glimpse of it. Rude. Scowling, Hadrian dusted himself off. 

“Hadrian Greenclaw.”

He froze, his gaze skimming the roof for the source of the voice. How had he missed noticing—There. A man lounged against a mostly-decorative gargoyle, blending too well with the architecture. Hadrian squinted into the shadows. “You could have made an appointment.”

“I don’t think so.” The man stepped forward, melodramatically allowing the faint light from below to catch at his crimson hair, his pince-nez, his flawlessly tailored coat. Tarvek Sturmvoraus. Of course Hadrian had seen him around town, but from a distance. He suppose it reasonable that once he had drawn the attention of the Heterodyne, her playthings would also take notice. He tried for indifference. 

“No? What urgent matter cannot be discussed over tea or aperitifs?”

Sturmvoraus fixed him with a sharp stare that made Hadrian wonder about the rumors he had heard of this man. Hero of the siege, master of the weasels, and all that rubbish. But this man before him looked nothing like the fashionable fool who laughed and made ill-advised bets with the Jägers. This man looked like murder wrapped up in silk and velvet. 

“Vanamonde von Mekkhan,” Sturmvoraus growled, something Sparky thrumming in the lower registers of his voice. Hadrian suppressed a shudder. Wulfenbach was the dangerous one, the one with terrible impulse control and a strong tendency to leave a trail of explosions wherever he went. Still, it was widely whispered that the Castle had grown fond of both of them, so Sturmvoraus must have a more lethal side. But Vanamonde…?

“I thought you were the Heterodyne’s toy,” Hadrian said, then marveled at his own ability to stick his foot in his mouth. He followed his unfortunate remark with another: “What on earth does von Mekkhan have to do with you?”

He might as well have offered insult to Sturmvoraus’ entire bloodline, the way his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “Vanamonde is my friend,” he growled, his voice softer and, terrifyingly, Sparkier. “You damaged him.”

Hadrian bristled. “Oh, he was asking for it.” Uh-oh. Why did he let this man provoke him?

“You. Do. Not. Harm. My. Friends.” With each word, Tarvek Sturmvoraus prowled nearer, his head tilted low like a predator’s, his shoulders tense but his limbs unsettlingly loose, relaxed, ready to strike. Hadrian scoffed. 

“I do what needs doing, just as my family has always done.”

“What needs doing?” Sturmvoraus echoed, his voice still soft. He gave a little shake of his head. “No.” With a speed that took Hadrian entirely by surprise, Sturmvoraus struck, hurling him off the roof. 

Hadrian entertained a brief contemplation of his own mortality before he slammed against something solid, which swore and deposited him right back on the roof. “You idiot! We discussed this! No killing!”

Sturmvoraus affected an air of aggrieved dignity. “Please. I knew you would catch him.”

“How did you know that?” Hadrian ventured. He probably should not have asked. 

“Because she’s been following me all evening.”

“Because Tragic Falls are so childishly easy they come free with most assassination contracts.”

Sturmvoraus momentarily lost interest in his prey. “Are you calling me childish?”

“No. I’m calling you simple.”

Hadrian’s attempt to sidle away failed when he choked back a snort. They both returned their attention to him, so he said, “Are the two of you siblings or something?”

“I’m killing him,” Sturmvoraus declared.

The woman who had saved Hadrian rolled her eyes. “You are not killing him. Agatha likes him.” She jabbed a finger at Sturmvoraus. “So does Van.”

“He tried to kill Vanamonde.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Hadrian insisted. He felt a bit awful about it, but only because he had been wrong about Vanamonde. He would not hesitate to kill any traitor. 

“Those wounds are no misunderstanding.” Sturmvoraus glared, but his associate would have none of it. 

“Come on,” she scoffed, “how many times have you and Gil damaged each other?”

“That’s different.”

“You might at least ask Van his opinion before skulking off to avenge his wardrobe.”

“Violetta—”

“Don’t bother denying it.”

Hadrian wondered at his life, that he could have such a nice evening, and then in the space of a few minutes watch it collapse into attempted homicide followed by theater of the absurd. He shook his head at the both of them. Sturmvoraus noticed, and renewed his murderous mission. 

“You,” he said. “Greenclaw. You will not harm Vanamonde von Mekkhan ever again.”

The man’s tone rankled. Hadrian glared. “Under whose authority?” As though rule of law had much to do with him anyway. To his surprise, Sturmvoraus scoffed. 

“You think authority has anything to do with it?”

Hadrian shook his head. “Why should it? You did just try to kill me.”

Violetta rolled her eyes. “Not very  _hard_ ,” she grumbled, and in utter defiance of his better judgment, Hadrian found himself growing a little fond of her surly demeanor. It helped that she reacted to Sturmvoraus with scorn and disdain. 

“You really don’t need to menace me over the seneschal,” Hadrian said. “Not that you’re terribly good at it,” he added, lying just to provoke Sturmvoraus. He had definitely thought he would fall to his death a few minutes ago. 

“Hm,” Sturmvoraus said, his eyes narrowed and his head tilted a little to one side. A bit of a catlike smirk played about his lips in a most chilling way, proving Hadrian wrong. He stood his ground, and he loathed every single hair that rose on the back of his neck. 

“If it’s all the same to you,” Hadrian said, feigning nonchalance, “I do have better things to do with my time. It’s been… enlightening, but I’d best be on my way.”

“No.”

Something in the simplicity of the reply incensed Hadrian, reminding him that this man enjoyed high social standing far beyond Mechanicsburg, far from the golden light of the Heterodyne’s favor. “Valois.” He spat the name as an insult, rather more reflexively than by intent. Schooling his face not to show it, he braced for retaliation. 

Sturmvoraus laughed. 

Unable to hide his confusion, Hadrian glanced at Violetta, then back to Sturmvoraus, whose amusement seemed genuine enough. What trick was this? 

“Oh, stop that.” Violetta slapped at Sturmvoraus’ arm, but his mirth would not be contained. 

Hadrian considered the Sparky tones in the man’s voice moments earlier. They should probably flee. “That was funny?” Sure, fine, some people just had no sense of self-preservation. 

Sturmvoraus grinned, and for once the sharp edges mostly stayed behind his teeth. “I’ve been waiting for that response in this town for years.” He turned away. “Walk with me, Greenclaw.”

Where, precisely? Before Hadrian could voice the thought, Sturmvoraus stepped off the edge of the roof. 

“He’s out of his mind.”

“You’d better follow him,” Violetta said. “He gets crabby if he has to wait.”

Feeling churlishly skeptical, Hadrian followed to the edge of the roof, and he peered downward. A story and a half below, Sturmvoraus dangled from a drainpipe as though he swung from buildings every evening. How dare he act so casual about this nonsense? Hadrian glanced back to Violetta one more time, but she just shrugged. 

With a sigh, Hadrian hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Nonsense, it seemed, would occupy him a little longer this evening. If he could judge by the last few minutes, someone would surely lose a hat before the night was over.


End file.
